


we'll do the things that lovers do

by fruitlouis



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, breakfast together, domestic cuteness, shitty cook!louis, stupidly endearing!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitlouis/pseuds/fruitlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis wants to make pancakes and fails, but it's alright because harry is his and always will be, no matter what</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll do the things that lovers do

**Author's Note:**

> just a cutesy drabble because apparently i can't write anything longer than 1k anymore
> 
> title from toothpaste kisses by the maccabees

It’s still dark out, and the moon is slowly sliding from the sky to make way for the sun. Also it’s eight a.m. Eight-oh-three, if he’s being precise. It’s too early to be precise, he decides, and Louis grunts, swatting at his alarm with one sleep-heavy hand. Fuck his tiny hands, he decides. If he had Harry’s massive paws it would be so much easier to hit the goddamn snooze button that somehow evades Louis’ efforts each day. Practically launching his torso off the bed, Louis finally manages to shut off the incessant beeping and begins the excruciatingly painful process of getting out of the warm nest he and Harry created. But he loves his stupid boyfriend very dearly, so Louis completes this agonizing task, for today is the day he cooks for Harry. Maybe. If the flat doesn’t burn down first. 

Something is tugging at his left pinky toe, and oh, that’s Harry, smiling his stupidly endearing crooked smile. 

“Wha timesit Lou,” Harry croaks, voice raspy from sleep. (and sucking Louis’ dick last night oops) 

“Time for you to go back to sleep bub,” Louis croons, fondly stroking Harry’s knotted curls and pressing a kiss to his temple. 

Mumbling a string of undecipherable jargon, Harry nods and slips back underneath the cocoon of covers and within a minute, a soft string of snores floats out from the blankets. Louis lets himself watch this beautiful, beautiful boy, his eyes roaming constellations of freckles that dot Harry’s back. He only lets himself linger for a moment though, because a shining silver toaster and a cast-iron griddle are calling his name. 

Goosebumps dot Louis’ skin as he pads into the kitchen, the cool air washing over him. Apparently, he forgot his trackies in their bedroom. Lovely. Stretching upward towards the cabinets, Louis rocks onto his tiptoes (he’s not short he’s petite okay) as he reaches for the necessary supplies, hands juggling two eggs, sugar, and butter. He meticulously sets them on the counter, lining everything up just the way Harry does. Except, Harry actually knows how to read a recipe and how long to cook pancakes and what’s the difference between baking powder and baking soda. Louis does not know these things, but oh well. 

The recipe is scrawled in Harry’s loopy handwriting and tiny asterisks annotate it, offering tips and hints for making the pancakes buttery soft and fluffy. As his eyes scan the recipe, what was once a single butterfly turns into a flock, churning Louis’ stomach into a nervous tsunami. Deep breaths, he reminds himself. He can do this, it’s not rocket science. 

But it might as well be, Louis decides, as he attempts to crack an egg while simultaneously keeping sharp bits of shell from mixing with the yolks. Sifting the flour is another adventure, as is melting the butter and defrosting the blueberries. Apparently microwaving a bowl of blueberries is not a good idea. Who knew? 

Lumps of something that somewhat resemble pancakes are sizzling on the griddle and a batter-splattered Louis is minding them, keeping a wary eye on the temperature gauge. There’s an odd scent to the air, but he brushes it off; it’s probably from that odd egg-beater device that nearly caused Louis to have a mental breakdown. There are two identical place settings on the table, a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice at each. The juice came out fine, thank you very much. No catastrophe there. 

Louis is stacking the blackened pancakes on a plate as Harry pads into the kitchen, his lips pulling into a lazy grin when he notices what Louis is doing.

“You made me breakfast?” Harry breathes, ducking down for a swift kiss. 

Nodding sheepishly, Louis gestures toward the place settings and to the soiled kitchen, running one vanilla-stained hand through his floppy fringe. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and motions for Harry to sit, flipping the largest pancake onto his plate. 

Harry makes a massive show of slicing the scorched pancake into minuscule pieces before popping several into his mouth. A grimace flits across his face before Harry quickly twists it into some form of a smile, and he offers his thoughts to Louis with an open mouthful of chewed up pancake.

“They’re lovely Lou, but maybe a tad less salt next time? And what is that smell, charred flesh?”

A petulant pout worms its way onto Louis’ face. “They’re awful, just say it.”

Chuckling, Harry delicately spits out the remainder of his bite before opening his mouth again. “You should just stick with sucking me off and playing fifa, babe.”

“Stop objectifying me you prick, I could’ve poisoned that juice,” Louis says, feigning annoyance.

“But you would never, because I feed you regularly and give you cuddles whenever you want. Plus, you love me.”

And really, what can Louis say, because he loves Harry so fucking much that he swears his heart is going to burst into rainbows and cupcakes and kittens. So he leans across the table and places a not-so-chaste kiss on his stupidly stupid boyfriend’s mouth, sliding his tongue into Harry’s plush mouth.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis whispers, tracing the words on Harry's tongue inbetween breaths. 

“But I’m your idiot, right Lou?”

His face splitting into a grin, Louis smiles, because yeah, Harry is his boy and always will be.


End file.
